Our thanks to Suez Veteran Tony Tolan for submitting this article and the photos used.  We are pleased to include it on the Website as it is part of our history, written in his own words by an ordinary sort of chap who saw service life in the Canal Zone.
Richard Woolley.  January 2005.

After I completed my training I went to RAF Stafford and I joined 5355 Airfield Construction Wing.  RAF Stafford at that time were building new barrack blocks with single rooms, modern showers and ablutions, I thought it was wonderful and too good to be true, and so it proved to be.  I had gone home on leave, enjoying going out on the town with my friends, having a kiss and cuddle with the odd girl, (I was a good little airman then,) and life was quite good. I was having breakfast one morning with my mother when there was a knock on the door and my mother came to me and said, "There is a telegram for you", and she was a little shaken as telegrams rarely brought good news in those days.  This one was no exception, it was short and to the point, 'Return to your unit immediately'.  I thought to myself  "what have I done to be recalled?" But nothing came to mind. I packed my bags, said goodbye to my friends and to my mother, promising to let her know what, if anything, was wrong.  Little did I know it would be three long years before I would see her again.

I arrived back at my unit, and was told that we were being posted to Egypt’s Canal Zone, - we being the Airfield Construction Lads, - and were going to RAF Lytham-St-Ann’s for processing.  "Where is Suez?"  my best friend asked me.  "It is a town at the end of the Suez Canal," I told him, although geography was not my favourite subject at school, to be honest school was not my favourite pastime either.  We had our jabs, got kitted out with our Khaki Drill and a very nice pair of sunglasses, and then off to RAF Lyneham for our flight to Fayid in Egypt.  It was dark when we arrived at Lyneham, and met some other RAF men also joining up with our outfit.  We had a meal, and saw a film at the camp cinema, “Three Little Words” it was called, we had a laugh about it later, those three little words became 'Suez Canal Zone' for us.

Dawn was just breaking as our Hastings came into land at RAF Fayid, and as we looked out of the window could see the Canal, ships making their passage, and the two roads, which we later knew as the Treaty Road and the Canal Road.  We were still in our blues when we got off the plane and I thought how cold it was for saying we were in the desert, not the vision I expected.  Some of the lads were quite excited, "Just wait Tone,” they said, "we can see the pyramids and visit Cairo."  Little did we know that 1951 was going to be a bad year where we were going.  We were loaded onto lorries, and to my surprise saw that we had armed escorts and a RAF armoured car in front.  I said to my friend, "They certainly look the business".  We were taken to RAF El-Hamra, a transit camp,and in the next two days were assigned to our bases.  My friends and I were posted to RAF Kasfareet, a large airfield just down the road.  As we were driving down the road through the camp, we could see neat rows of billets, I thought 'they look all right', but we went past them and down to the runways where we eventually got turned out of the lorries.
 

Hasting transport planes at RAF Fayid.

Not the Blues Brothers but two homesick airmen.

Not exactly home from home.

"Where do we live?" I asked our chiefy.  "Where you bloody well stand my lad" was the reply in his lovely melodious cockney accent.  "That there pile of canvas is where you live, and will probably die in," he replied.  We sweated most of our first day putting up these old WW2 4 men tents, assembled old iron beds and prepared for our first night camping under the stars.  It was as exciting as a fart in a space suit.  Our job was the maintenance of the airfields and plant throughout the Zone, but the first job was to get some sort of  water supply and toilets, we made do with holes in the sand at first, but then we built some shacks, with buckets, and boards on the top, a very social event with four to a board, but our first water supply came in bowsers.  The smell was awful, and every fly in Egypt was on intimate terms with my rear end, it was a recipe for disease and it would not be long before it reared its ugly head.  Many lives were lost through disease.

Our initial supplies had to come from Port Said, and we had to travel in armed convoy’s to achieve this.  Some of our heavy vehicles, like the Leyland Hippo were slow and were easier targets, but we had the edge if they tried to run us off the road, we had an open hatch on the passenger side and had a Bren gun mounted on them, very effective they proved to be.  One stretch of road near Ismailia became known as ‘snipers alley,’ and it was heads down and full speed ahead until we cleared that area.  We were forbidden out of our perimeters alone, and had to carry our weapons at all times as we were in the open and were vulnerable to attack.  We had several tents along our perimeter, which had armed response teams to defend any situation.  We used to come under sniper fire from the village outside the fence near to our tent area, especially at night.  We dug three-foot deep holes in the sand, shored them up with old packing cases, and put our tents over them, bloody well hot but a lot safer.

The hardest bases to defend were the Airfields, their areas were so large, the perimeters were several miles round, were more likely to attack than the main camp areas and the Army garrisons.  It did not take long for us to realise this was no picnic, but active service.  Vampire and Meteor jets were on constant patrol in case of attack by the Egyptian Air Force, or Army, and their treacherous Police Force who were encouraged by their Government to get the British out of their country, as they wanted to renege on the 1936 treaty which allowed the British to stay in the Canal Zone until 1956.
 

Vampire ready for take-off.

Vampire flying low over village.

One twelve vehicle convoy going to Port Said came under fire on the outskirts and we were ordered by a senior Army officer to take up defensive positions where we were, as there were armed mobs rioting in the town and shops, including the NAAFI, were being looted.  The army was trying to gain control of the town but it took a lot longer than anticipated.  I felt like John Wayne with a wagon train repelling the Indians.  The Police Barracks in Ismailia was responsible for a lot of the attacks on our troops and civilians and eventually it was taken by the Lancashire Fusiliers.  But not without casualties on both sides, over 40 on the Egyptian side were killed, and over 80 taken prisoner.  The Convent school in Ismailia was also taken over by terrorists, and Sister Anthony was shot dead trying to get them removed.  She was buried with full military honours in the War Cemetery at Moascar, a first time in military history I heard.Click here for link to Sister Anthony tribute. Civilians were soft targets for the terrorists, and before they were evacuated from the Zone many of them lost their lives including very young children. All this information was suppressed at the time, and Suez was not a nice place to be in.

After a lot of work we started to get organised, and we now had built ourselves cold-water showers, and laid on a mains water supply, which made things a lot more hygienic.  We cut oil drums in half, boiled them clean, and finally we could get some hot water for washing etc. We did not have much to wash as our uniform consisted of a pair of shorts and a bush hat, very natty I must say.  Chiefy drew the line of having corks hanging from the brim though.  We still had buckets as toilets, but now they were being emptied by service personnel of the East African Pioneer Corp recently arrived in the Zone.  They were a lovely bunch of lads and always had a smile, even though they did a lot of the dirty work for us so we could get on with doing the important jobs.  A lot of these
Commonwealth troops lost their lives and are buried alongside our own dead, all a band of brothers.
 

One of our pick-ups being recovered on the treaty road.

And being off-loaded at base.

The attacks still continued, and our vehicles are still being ambushed. There were a lot of casualties amongst the drivers of the slow heavy lorries, and the RASC did a great job despite their losses. All transport was provided by the services, as all the Egyptian labour had been withdrawn, the RAF bus service was legendry. Wires stretched across the road claimed the lives of dispatch riders and leading vehicles in the convoy had wire cutters on the front.  I was by now getting a little worried, as like my fellow servicemen we were mostly 18 to 20 year olds, and for most of them this was their first overseas posting. We thought we would have been home for Xmas, but Xmas was only 4 weeks away, and things were getting worse. There were about 8,000 servicemen in the Zone at this time, but it was to change very dramatically. Several servicemen disappeared without trace, and all those captured in an ambush, or going out unprotected would finish up with an unpleasant death. One of the RAF buses, with the driver and escort, went missing, and were reported missing presumed dead. There were acts of bravery that went without any award, I remember one driver who picked up grenade thrown into his cab by a terrorist, and tossed it back out of the window saving the occupants from death, and injury. Private Duckworth was wounded five times on guard duty, twice to the head, and three times to the body, and has suffered a
lifetime of pain since. The bodies of six servicemen were recovered from the Sweetwater canal over a short period, two officers, and four other ranks. They had terrible injuries, and two had lost their legs. Two members of the Para’s also suffered the same fate.
 

All these things were happening on a regular basis, and made our lives miserable. There was nowhere to go, and living like Gypsies in tatty old tents, and nothing to do when we did get some rest time was getting several of our lads depressed, and one shot off half his foot to get home. He was sent home, and medically discharged, but you can be assured that no details were released. Any bad news, and the casualty figures were suppressed. As we approached Xmas Eve our friends in the RASC at Fanara, gave us an Xmas bonus of tinned fruit, cake, and chocolate. We were quite self sufficient, but most of our food came out of tins.We were to make our final trip to Port Said before Xmas, and promised to bring back some treats for the Para’s who shared our patrols with us, and you could always rely on the guys at the docks for that little extra especially as Xmas was so near. The mail situation was very good, and already we had loads of cards from home, which were hung round the tents, it was going to be the first Xmas away from home for a lot of the lads. I would be spending my second Xmas away, we all missed home very much. I learned later that my mother spent most of Xmas day crying after hearing about the troubles in the Zone, bless her.

Having an Xmas tipple.

On Xmas eve morning muster, the sergeant, not known for his sense of humour, called out the names of the nights patrol. To my utter dismay I and my friend Taffy were on it, we had already done two runs to Port Said and a guard duty in December. "You my lucky lads are on duty tonight, along with the Para’s." I could not believe it, but there is no way of getting out of it, you do your duties whatever day it is. I managed to have a couple of drinks with the boys, and then we had to clean our arms and draw extra ammo from the armoury. The patrols were based in tents round the perimeter, and you patrolled between several of the fence posts, which also carried the lighting. You would meet your mate at the turning point, and make your way back till you met the guard from the opposite direction.  We did two hours on and two off, and do your turn on the searchlight, which I was not keen on as it was always the first thing they tried to knock out. I was on the 20-00hr to the 24-00 hr shift for my first period and I duly set out on my beat. It was a clear night, cold but light. I could not help but think of my friends at home, on the town, on the beer and chasing the girls, and I had this awful feeling of being homesick.

At 23-45 hrs all hell broke loose and we came under fire from the rooftops of the village just across from our perimeter fence. Someone was firing a LMG from the Minaret of the local Mosque and the searchlight went out. The rest of the guard turned out and as there were married quarters on the Canal Road, we were ordered by the Guard Commander to cross the bridge from the camp into the village and some of us had to go and protect them. We were still taking fire from the rooftops and we returned the fire, I don’t know if I hit anything, but it made me feel better. As we had the lights of the camp behind us and were visible to anyone on the roof, the Guard Commander ordered us back into the camp and take up defensive positions. It was then 00-15 hrs and the Guard Commander wished us all a Merry Xmas, our reply was not for the ears of the fainthearted. We still came under occasional fire and could not stand down until daylight. The Para’s then went in with force. They took some local prisoners and recovered a Bren gun, some rifles and small arms, which were probably taken from either captured or killed British troops. It is bad enough being shot at, but with your own weapons, that is taking liberty too far. We later heard one of the Guards was wounded, but not serious; although he would have to careful for a while when sitting down, bum luck if ever there was.
 

In the camp.

RAF reinforcements arriving in the Zone on the 'Empire Medway'

Merry Xmas?  Not on your life, I was so tired I slept most of Xmas day, but on Boxing Day the jazz band was going to play for us in the Sally Army hut. I didn’t realize until afterwards that Acker Bilk was one of the players in the band. We continued into the New Year with the same routine, doing our jobs on the Airfields, plus constant guards and patrols. We did have a visit to the cinema occasionally, and Ivy Benson with her All Girls Band visited the Zone. I would have given my right arm for a glimpse of them, all that lustful flesh, but I heard that all the officers were like flies round a jam pot with them, some jam pot! Its perhaps a good thing I did not see them, my blood pressure would have gone up, and you all know what happens when blood pressure gets high, not for young naïve lads like me. Reinforcements were arriving from England, and other areas, and we were relieved to see them as it would mean fewer guards and have more time to do the jobs that we were sent out to do. The “Feyadeen” (the terrorist group behind the attacks on our bases,) would take every opportunity to attack the most venerable of targets, such as small patrols and solitary vehicles. Armouries were well guarded as there had been several attempted break-ins. There seemed no light at the end of the tunnel and for our unit, 'leave' was a swear word so we did not get any. We realised we were going to be here for a long time, it was depressing just to think about it.

We were very busy in February constructing a new refuelling plant for the Jet aircraft when one of the Royal Signals men informed us that the King had died. The Forces Broadcasting Service confirmed this. We listened to this station with the most up to date technology, a crystal set, the old cats whisker job. We did not have any cats whiskers, so had to do with hairs from the rear end of a Pyard dog. I think everyone was in a state of shock, we were now fighting for Queen and Country. I was feeling quite unwell at the time with sickness and dysentery, but as soon as the weather started to warm up, in flew squadrons of flies from 205 Group. It was flies, flies, and even more flies. In the hot weather we ate our meals under our mosquito nets most of the time. There had been more casualties, which the army took the brunt of, though the RAF also suffered their share as well . We had to make the best of what fate had given us, and I thought how well everyone coped with the awful unhygienic conditions we were forced to live in. Camping holidays would never be the same again.
 

Installing new fuel installation

Some of the Airfield Construction Lads

I never told my Mother in my letters how her brown-eyed boy was living, or of the casualties, she would have died on the spot. It was very hard for her as I was always there for her until I enlisted, and then I was away for three years.  I had some good friends, as all servicemen do, and we helped each other through the bad times. We made the best of what we had been given, and whatever happened we would not be able to change it. As we approached the end of 1952 there was no easing of the tension, and no leave, and Xmas was not a thing that took priority, keeping sane and alive was everyone’s only goal. We were all hoping we would have been home by now, but there was no sign of the terrorist campaign easing.  Questions were being asked in Parliament about the crisis in Suez, and several MP’s including Anuran Bevin and Herbert Morrison were asking about the Suez Campaign, and in particular the taking of the Police Buildings in Ismailia. They were more concerned with Anglo-Egyptian relations than the death of the British troops, who they had sent there in the first place. I am sure the taking of the Police Buildings saved many future lives.

It was from a Police Station that one incident took place that conveyed the dangers, and the bravery, of this campaign. One bright sunny afternoon two British officers, their wives and three small children went shopping after being cooped up during the riots and fighting. They had been informed that the town was now in bounds for shopping, so they decided to go out and get some food and papers. The officers were Major Wharton, a well decorated soldier with two Belgian and two French Croix De Guerre amongst other medals. The other officer was Flying Officer Snelling, and as usual they took their weapons with them, the Major his Sten gun, and the Flying officer an automatic pistol and extra ammunition. They had not gone far when they came under fire with bullets flying over their heads so they took cover as best as they could. They then realised the firing was coming from the Police Station (their treachery was legendry). The officers knew the danger they were in and told the women and children to make a run for it as there was a real danger of them being hit. The officers shouted to the Police and identified themselves, but the Police only laughed and continued to fire. The women and children were told to run for the house of a Frenchman across the street, and as the officers gave covering fire they ran for it with bullets bouncing off the road. They made it safely and lay on the floor of a back room as bullets were
flying all around. The next morning the streets were cleared by troops with armoured car support, and the women and children were taken home under armed escort. The bodies of their husbands were found riddled with bullets and had been dragged through the streets, their medal ribbons torn off and their weapons missing. There were many incidents of bravery in this campaign, but no bravery awards were ever made (military). Between 1951/54 there were numerous serious incidents, and loss of life.

Xmas 1952 was no different from 1951, I was on Guard duty again as two of the lads were down with Dysentery, and as I patrolled my beat I could not help but wonder if I was going to make it home. I had not had ones day leave since arriving in the Zone, and one thing for sure I was not going to get fat, it was four meals a day, two in, and two out, I did not have many days when I did not go to the buckets several times.  On New years Day I and my friends went to the Cinema, which was a treat for us, but when we returned to our tents some bright spark had set fire to his tent, and it had spread to another three so we had to shovel sand like the devil to put them out. Our bright cockney sergeant had had us fill buckets full of sand, and place them between the tent lines. The only trouble was they were too heavy to lift.  I forgot to mention between all this it was my 21st birthday, some coming of age, I came of age when I arrived in Egypt in early 51. Life dragged on as usual, work, more work, guards and even more guards, I should have joined the Guards instead of the RAF.  I would have looked a bonny devil in a kilt with my knees, I would probably have worn the Sporran on the inside, which would have brought a smile to my face. 1953 was no more of a change than 1952 except the Queen was crowned.  I often thought how easier it would be if we had to fight a battle face to face, at least they would have been in front of
you, and you would not have to have eyes in the back of your head, for you never knew when or where the next attack would come from.

At this time there were nearly a 100,000 troops in the Zone, a little different from the 8,000 we started out with. A good percentage were national Servicemen, and what a great job they did. They served in many campaigns of the early 50’s, Malaya, Korea etc, and so many paid the ultimate sacrifice.

Punishment for serious offences was severe, and at El-Hamra camp there was a large hut encircled by a fence. This I learned was the execution shed, and the death penalty was carried out on several occasions. Two of my friends were going home in a few days as they had completed their two years service, and were being demobbed, lucky devils, I certainly missed them, and as I was a regular I had to do two and a half years, but it was nearer three before I got to get home. I just could not believe I had been here so long, I have had no leave, and all I have to show is a lean figure, I lost a stone and half since I arrived, there was no need for weight watchers for me.

We do not get much light relief but a funny thing happened to me, and half of our squadron benefited from it, as one of my old friends back home in Derby had a part time job at the local cinema, The “Cosmo” it was called, but we used to call it the flea pit, as it certainly came up to scratch and he was the projectionist. During a period of madness at the interval, he put up on the screen a message saying there were lonely airmen in Egypt who wanted some girls to write to them. A couple of weeks later our mail man came to me and told me there was some mail for me, and as I do not usually get a lot of mail, this was good news. “Where is it then”? I asked. “You had better fetch it yourself “ he said there are two sacks of the stuff. I duly took the pick-up, and fetched the mail, and it was amazing, there were enough books, magazines, papers, and letters from girls of all shapes and sizes. I distributed this round to the lads, and we had enough reading material to last quite a while. Some of the lads, great romantics as they were, wrote to the girls and I told them not to send a photograph so as not to frighten them. Some good at least came from the so-called joke.

1953 came and went much the same as usual, although by this time there were enough servicemen in the zone to cool the fervour of a lot of the terrorists, we were not the easy targets we were in the first year. There were still casualties, but a lot fewer than previous.

Although I keep going on about the servicemen, I cannot continue without mentioning the servicewomen who stayed behind after the evacuation. I hope they will forgive me if I do not mention all their units they served in as I did not have a lot of contact with them apart when I needed treatment in Fayid hospital for Dysentery and other sicknesses. Most of the RAF bases had WRAF personnel, as did the WRAC, and they gave sterling service. Wherever British troops serve you will find personnel of the PMRAFNS, the QARANC in the military hospitals. There were the NAAFI, the Sally Army and many more civilian services, and I hope they get rewarded with their medals in the near future for their loyal service in the Zone.

There was one incident regarding a servicewoman that caused anger amongst the RAF lads, and the Army too. A young WRAF girl was kidnapped, raped, and murdered by terrorists. This news caused a feeling of great anger, and we knew also it would cause great sorrow to her family, and friends.  If we were to believe the Government of the time who had suppressed the casualties in the Zone, only 54 were killed, but our Roll of Honour shows a different story, and the truth. Our figures show what a dangerous place the Canal Zone was between 1951/54. It also shows the deaths from disease from living in such squalid conditions. It is bad enough to die in combat, but to die for the lack of basic hygienic living conditions should make the Government ashamed. Click here for link to Roll of Honour.

On the 27th of July 1954, my 23rd birthday, a treaty was signed by Anthony Nutting for the British Government, and General Nasser of Egypt to end the conflict and I was hoping now some of us would be going home. They had been the worst years of my life, but I had come through it.  I was resting in my tent one afternoon when I had a call to report to the orderly room on the main base. It was so hot and the heat unbearable. When I arrived I was told that I was going home with some other members of Airfield Construction. We would be sailing on the Empire Ken in two weeks time out of Port Said. I was absolutely over the moon but my friends were not so pleased. We had been through a lot together, seen things you only want to forget about, laughed together through the bad times,
grieved together at the loss of a friend and enjoyed friendships that I would never forget. I had arrived here as a teenager, but hoped I was going home as a man. After nearly three years of danger and disease, with not one day leave away from the heat and the smell of this awful place. The smell I still remember 50 years on.
 

On the day of my departure, I said farewell to my friends, promised to write and keep in touch, but as all servicemen know memories fade a little over the years. When I arrived at Port Said docks I boarded the Empire Ken and as it was dark the ship was lit up. It was not a luxury ship, but to me it looked beautiful, it was taking me home. After boarding I was assigned a bunk, there were no cabins for us, just dormitories. We had a meal and I settled down to get some sleep as I was dead tired. I was awoken by the sound of the ships engines and I knew then I was finally on my way home. The RAF lads were in the minority and there was a Regiment going home, I think it was the Para’s. We had little to do but enjoy the trip until we arrived at Malta. We did not get ashore but sailed on to Gibraltar, our last stop.

The 'Empire Ken' Troopship.

I sent my mother a telegram to say I had docked and was on my way, I hope she does not pass out when she gets it. When my train arrived in Derby Station I felt quite apprehensive, had things changed as much as I had changed?  I got a taxi, luxury for me, and 10 minutes later pulled up outside my door. I stood and gazed at this little terraced house and it dawned on me I was finally home. I went round the back and knocked on the door. I thought afterwards it was a silly thing to do as this was my home. My Mother answered the door, stood there and looked me, dropped the saucepan from her hand and then burst into tears, yes I was
definitely home.  We just sat there held hands and talked, she had aged bless her, but I was so pleased to be there with her and hoped my next posting would be near to her. My sister came in and started my Mother crying all over again. I thanked God I had returned home safely, and I prayed for all those fine young men who would never see their homes again, I shall never forget them.

© Tony Tolan
November 2004.